Oh the things you can hear while listening to radio feed over the internet. Here in the biggest small town in the country, we all sort of know each other. It's Minnesota, for Gawd's Sake, and we take nice to certain extremes. I'd like to believe we are even courteous when considering tapping into conversations where we aren't wanted. And when the unexpected meets the unwanted the result is clear. The fecal material has hit the wind machine. Right here. Could it be?
We have all, I am sure, spent at least a few minutes thinking, "Am I on the list? Did I make the cut? Does someone in the vast monster of alphabet soup agencies actually think I, little old Me, is special enough to bug, tap, or otherwise monitor?" Come on, you've felt it. The real badge of honor this time is as likely to be making the cut. In fact, it is probably a badge of honor to have made the list.
During Vietnam, we hoped and dreaded the snooping of the FBI. Now, it's the NSA, and we will never know even if we've been nominated for the prized non-consensual overhear, because under FISA, no one can talk. At all.
However, if "they" are going to shred the Fourth Amendment, wiretap on Americans, why wouldn't we think that being on a list might be a good thing. I mean, think about the Pentagon Papers. Think about Nixon. Think about the pre-FISA days when anyone could be snooped on and it was very, very bad.
Now, my life is really bland. My life could be a constant buffet of white Norwegian food, served day after day, on white plates. I haven't worked in far too long. I am trying to heal a shattered wrist. What kind of activist do they, or does anyone, think I am? I have a tough time activating my laundry to the washing machine. My friends and I schedule things around physical therapy. Which makes far too much of my life far to quiet.
My life is pretty boring. I am not printing leaflets on my computer. My physical therapy ties me with chains stronger than airplane cable. It's a timing thing. Stuff takes a long time, and repeating stuff takes longer. Then I hurt to much to be civil. Start over, cycle done, repeat process for hours. It is not the life of a fire breathing activist.
Now, don't get me wrong. I care. A lot. And I do whatever I am able to do. Which isn't much because of the physical therapy, rest, ice, repeat, schedule of life.
Sure I write to blogs. I read blogs. I visit many different sites while sitting with my wrist in a bowl of ice cubes and water. I even visit sites where those lovely tin-foil hats coquettishly balance on knee-jerking righter than right NeoCon "we want to rule the Universe" heads. I mean, if they knew, they'd probably revoke my passwords to keep these places safe from Librruls like me.
Imagine my surprise when I heard a distinctly Texas style accent coming over the top of Air America. Ethereal voice said, "It's going to be a great day." Well that was okay with me. Great days are to be fervently hoped for.
Then, "we've got (garbled) on (garble) net...com...sites. She's writ..."
Then the kicker. "Shoot (cleaned up for the righter than right folk who generally swear like longshoremen, IMO), the mike's on....[click]"
Well, the difficulties I had been having getting to various blogs disappeared. Where delays were common for months prior to dismembered voice, delays have happened exactly never in the past two days.
Which implies to me, I might be one of those people considered a risk. I used to work with some middle-eastern types, US citizens and certified heroes for saving US lives. No contact for years on my or their part. I left that city. They didn't even follow me with a phone call.
Now, what I heard could have been a misdirected electronic blip caused by static in the phone lines.
Or not.
Whatever it was, I know that I have moments when I think, WOW!! I've arrived. I finally got my protester cred. Yippee.
Or, it was just a cell phone call gone haywire. Sigh.